


Prompt Fills~~

by PaxDuane



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Cooking, Established Relationship, Glitter, Hardcase Has ADHD (Star Wars), Hardcase Lives (Star Wars), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Umbara Arc (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Resuscitation, Urban warfare, and also Jango's job, in a very small rural town, it's mostly for actually hunting, mandalorian cooking, nonbinary Hardcase, so they still own a lot of weaponry, the fetts are a very liberal family, weaponizing being hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: Chapter 1: Edible Glitter, Spicy, for ElouanWrites (FeeJango)Chapter 2: Edible Glitter, Sweet, for ElouanWrites (FeeJango)Chapter 3: Fancy Dress, for my Bro (MaulRex)Chapter 4: I'm Sorry What, for svartalfheimr (MaulRex)Chapter 5: Pets, for menac_ika
Relationships: Darth Maul/CT-7567 | Rex, Feemor & Bant Eerin, Feemor/Jango Fett, Hardcase & Darth Maul, Pre-Hardcase/Darth Maul
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Edible Glitter, Spicy

“I think the edible glitter may be a bit much.”

Jango shakes the vial at him, smirking. The shiny glitter matches his tattoos which, actually, might be the “much” of it. “Come on, it’s a club.”

“I can’t believe I asked for your help with this,” Feemor says, but he’s smiling and pulling the androgyne in.

“I can’t believe you did either.” Jango goes up on their toes and kisses him. “I would have figured you knew how to dress for these kinds of things.”

“I met you in a shitty cantina,” Feemor reminds them, leaning down to catch his hands on their waist, to kiss their neck and make them squirm.

Jango tucks themself against him. “It’s pretty unusual for you to be in a metro, isn’t it? Usually out there with the rocks.”

They would know, they like going out with him to look at rock formations and mineral deposits, and they listen intently when he explains things, but more importantly they were raised with a well-rounded education at a level more expected of a university student than the pre-teen they were.

“My expertise usually put me near volcanos, yes,” he teases. “But I pissed someone off, didn’t I?” He sweeps his hands from Jango’s ribs down to their hips.

“You didn’t piss Mace off,” Jango scolds. They pause. “Though, he said Master Atalanta had something to say about your last report.”

“Of course she did.” He groans into Jango’s curls. “She really didn’t like that sainthood thing.”

“It’s the fourth planet that’s happened on, Fee.” Jango pulls away to change into their own clothes for the occasion, a black, skintight, sleeveless bodysuit with a high neck and a pair of dark turquoise salwar. They add a pair of dripping jade earrings.

Feemor shrugs off his robes, finally, to change into the dark suit pants and black tank with a scooped neck. It leaves the tattoos on his arms on full display, which both complete the look and serve as the flag for the Shadow to know who to drop the information with. The glitter he gives a final considering look before handing it to a smiling Jango, who dusts it over his cheeks and the edges of his shoulders before swiping some across their own lips.

“Gorgeous,” Feemor murmurs, kissing them.

Jango laughs. “Come on, lets get to the club.”

The club is pulsing, with the Force and the music and undulating bodies. Jango orders two violently blue drinks and plops themself right in Feemor’s lap.

Feemor sprawls, mimicking both Master Qui-Gon and Master Dooku in some ways, making sure his tattoos are visible.

They don’t have to wait terribly long, as less than an hour goes by a pale, dark-haired woman with bright tattoos of her own slides over to them, giving Jango a surprised look.

“Been a while, Feemor,” the woman says, leaning over to shake his hand.

“Cassi, didn’t realize it’d be you,” he says, accepting the handshake and the pocket drive palmed with it. “How have you been doing?”

“Oh, you know.” Cassi raises an eyebrow at Jango, who sips the last of their drink and raises an eyebrow right back.

Feemor shifts to splay a hand on Jango’s waist. “Any problems?”

Cassi glances back to him. “Oh. Just some issues with pirates.”

“Mm. Well, I’m sure that’ll clear up soon.” He smiles as Jango snorts.

“Well. Nice to see you again. And your…”

“Partner,” Feemor says simply.

“Partner.” Cassi nods slowly, hesitantly, then dives back into the fray of the club.

“Don’t go mess with her,” Feemor murmurs to Jango, who laughs. “She may deserve it, but she’ll complain and never stop.”

“Crechemate?”

“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to Jango’s neck.

Jango hums. “Hey Fee?”

“Mm?”

“Let’s get out of here.”


	2. Edible Glitter, Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango comes to meet Feemor's new padawan, and comes prepared.

“I think the edible glitter may be a bit much.”

Jango raises their eyebrows at Feemor. “Oh?”

“She’s twelve, she’s not going to eat glitter.”

Jango smiles. “It’s biodegradable, too, and dissolves in water. Easier clean up.”

“You’re making uj’ika, why does there need to be glitter?”

“Because of course there needs to be glitter.”

“Master?” Bant asks, peaking over from the living room.

“Yes?” Feemor asks, wheeling around to look at her.

“It’s seaweed glitter.” She stares at him. “Jango’s awesome.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Feemor agrees, grinning even when Jango kicks him in the ankle.

“Bant, how are you with spice?” Jango asks, turning back to the frankly terrifying pot of syrup they’re boiling.

“Not good.”

Jango nods. “We’ll fix that. I fixed that for Feemor too.”

Feemor can’t help but smile, turning to give them a chaste kiss on the lips. “That you did, but I’m still not as good as you are.”

They wave him off, turning back to the syrup. “You’re fine for not growing up with it. Actually, Bant, do you know how Mon Cal react to spice?”

“Is it capsaicin?”

“No.”

“It won’t kill me then.”

“Good. If I ever give you something that might kill you, but you’re afraid to hurt my feelings, just feed it to your master and remind me.”

“Some of the things you can eat can kill me too,” Feemor points out, crossing back out of the kitchen to bring back a pair of chairs, one for him and one for Bant. She scampers up onto it, watching with fascination as Jango stirs the bubbling syrup.

“I can’t believe you brought the stuff all the way from Concord Dawn,” she says, awed.

Jango laughs. “It’s not that hard when you have your own ship.”

“You do?”

“The firespray is not a ship,” Feemor protests, grinning, “It’s a thought experiment someone decided to make real.”

“Rude.” Jango waves the wooden spoon at him. “She’s perfectly capable.”

“She flies a completely different direction than she lands. I nearly brained myself last time I flew with you.”

“I’d warned you to stay seated and buckled.”

Feemor smiles. “You did.” He unfolds himself to wrap his arms around Jango’s waist, leaning over to rest his chin on their shoulder.

Jango brings up the spoon again and waits a few moments before holding it up for Feemor.

Feemor takes a swipe of cooled syrup, glittering ridiculously, and tastes it. “Good,” he says. It’s still warm and has a kick, but it’s low enough he barely notices it—it will be fine for Bant. He pulls back to sit back with his new padawan. “Are you going to convince Mace to sign off on us going to Chalacta with you?”

Jango glances back at them, and at Bant’s excited body language, and grins. “Of course I am. I thought Bant would like to see the Festival of Song.”

“Yes, I would!” She’s practically vibrating. “Thank you!”

Jango smiles, so soft in the face of her. They delight Feemor, have since the first moment they interacted, but by the Force he’s never been more enamored with them than in this moment.


	3. Fancy Dress (aka Hush Hush)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maul is pretty sure it's a good thing he's so terrified of the Fetts. He just didn't expect more than the guerilla warfare training the family seems to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of inappropriate attention being given to a teenager who very much doesn't want it. Don't worry, no one in the fic is okay with it.

“I swear to god, I’ll beat you to death with my high heels, if you don’t shut the fuck up. ”

Maul looks up from staring at his boyfriend’s ass and holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, I just thought we were going to visit your family, not go out?”

“We are going to visit my family.” Rex turns to glare at him, brandishing Maul’s own black lipstick at him.

“Do…Do they think this is what gay people dress like?” Maul asks, somewhat concerned. Rex had said his family was supportive.

“Hm? Oh, no. We just all tend to dress like this when we get together.”

Maul looks him up and down, from the golden curls, to the dramatic makeup, to the bodycon blue dress that…might be more straps than actual fabric, to the six inch heels that actually manage to make him taller. “Why?” He was already unsure he’d survive this, just from Rex talking through Jango pairing down his frankly excessive private arsonel last month. Now he’s unsure for a completely different reason.

Rex manages to look smug and embarrassed at the same time. “We have a running tally for who has caused the most traffic accidents in town.”

Maul looks him up and down again. “Who’s winning?”

There, Rex winces. “Kasey.”

Maul’s jaw drops. “Your newly legal sibling. Who either wears cargo pants or mimics Grace Kelly?”

“There’s a reason we don’t care we cause traffic accidents, Maul.”

“God, I hope you egg their houses too.”

He scoffs. “No, but Buir does keep track of when the cars come back and puts sugar in their gas tanks.”


	4. I'm Sorry What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex gets into grad school.

“….I _really_ hope I heard that wrong.”

Rex looks up from where he’s upside down on the couch, on video call with Cody. “Which part?”

Maul raises his eyebrows, hand still clenched around the strap of his messenger bag.

“Ah.” Rex looks back to Cody. “Fuck off dipshit, I have a more important conversation.”

From the tinny sound of speaker phone, Cody manages to both cuss Rex out and imply Rex is in trouble in one breath before Rex hangs up on him. Always impressive, Cody.

Rex turns himself back over to sit upright on the couch. “I needed to talk to Cody about it first.”

“We live together.”

“We do,” Rex allows. “But I wasn’t going to bring it up to you if it wasn’t financially viable to do at all. I know it’s not optimum, for us, but it would be a great opportunity for me, and it would only be temporary.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d gotten accepted.”

Rex bristles. “You didn’t even like that I was applying. You hate Mandalore!”

Maul stares at him, almost uncomprehending. “But I love you! And Mandalore has the best department for you to continue studying your own culture! I…I get why you’d want to go. It’s the same reason you encouraged me to apply to Iridonia.”

“…yeah.”

“I may hate Mandalore, but it…it is the best opportunity for you.” He sighs. “So, is it? Financially viable?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I was going to bring it up tonight.”

“Okay. So we move to Mandalore for a couple years.”

Rex goes wide eyed. “You’d come with me?”

“Of course I would, I’m not letting you subject yourself to Mandalore on your own.”


	5. Pets (or: Still Alive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exaaaaactly what was prompted? Because it's more pre-relationship? IDK I have a couple ideas on what could happen but no desire to continue it... Sorry?

“…Why are you petting me?”

The red and black Zabrak glares down at him. “My medic said that you need nerve stimulation as you regain consciousness. I see that is no longer necessary.”

Hardcase squints at him. “Where am I?”

“Manadlore sector. We picked your nearly dead body up on Umbara.”

Ah. That was a phenomenal kark up. “I need to go back to the Republic.”

The Zabrak smirks. “No, you do not. You are dead to them besides, but now you are mine.”

“And who are you,” he snarls, trying to struggle up only for one of the machines he’s attached to go off loudly, making him wince. It’s too loud and even still heavy with sleep it grates against his mind.

“You may call me Maul.”

Hardcase drops back down, grateful when the machine stops.

Maul frowns at him. “There is something strange about your mind.”

“General Kenobi,” he doesn’t miss the way the General’s name twists Maul’s face, “Said it’s called ADHD. The trainers just said I was defective, too hyperactive.”

“You notice many things.”

He’s groggy, in terrible pain, and has never served with a Zabrak and cannot know their natural gestures and facial expressions, but he’s already picked out the mechanical way Maul moves back and forth, the clenches of pain in his muscles, his dislike of General Kenobi, and his strange looking lightsaber hilt. “I do.”

General Skywalker had said General Kenobi killed a Sith, a Zabrak.

Funny, he thinks, how he didn’t stay dead either.

“The medic will see to you soon.”

He’s dead to the Republic, though. Both of them are. He can at least stick around and see if he can figure out what’s going on here.


End file.
